[The voice is painful to ignore, but it can be ignored, to a point. It simply gives the same direction, again and again and again, ceaselessly and without emotion. Patient, but insistent. Like a parent correcting a child.
But even with all the time in the world, the show must go on. The gods don't make requests of mortals.
He'll feel a sudden burning jolt through his body, and then—it is no longer his own. Wolfwood stands, and no matter how much he wants to resist, to scream, to do anything at all, he can do nothing but obey the will of something beyond his comprehension, feel its scalding will coursing through him and removing his own. Calmly, he walks towards the steps, to the stage. He takes his place. He bows, grateful, obedient. The theater applauds. Tiny white stars and faceless statues appear to fill the empty seats, whispering amongst themselves in an unknown language.
When he stands up straight, the force controlling him lets go. For now, anyway.
Anyway, a show is nothing without a proper script, right? A single page flutters down from the rafters above, settling perfectly into Wolfwood's hands. Unfortunately, this is not the script. Instead, all he gets is a black-and-white flyer for a bakery. It reads: "Pretty Sweetie Bakery. Bread 20% off every Saturday! Because we LOAF you almost as much as you LOAF our bread!!!"
...
The crowd is silent, but it feels like they're waiting for something. Well? You practiced your lines, right? This is your cue! Your shining moment! Break a leg!]
no subject
But even with all the time in the world, the show must go on. The gods don't make requests of mortals.
He'll feel a sudden burning jolt through his body, and then—it is no longer his own. Wolfwood stands, and no matter how much he wants to resist, to scream, to do anything at all, he can do nothing but obey the will of something beyond his comprehension, feel its scalding will coursing through him and removing his own. Calmly, he walks towards the steps, to the stage. He takes his place. He bows, grateful, obedient. The theater applauds. Tiny white stars and faceless statues appear to fill the empty seats, whispering amongst themselves in an unknown language.
When he stands up straight, the force controlling him lets go. For now, anyway.
Anyway, a show is nothing without a proper script, right? A single page flutters down from the rafters above, settling perfectly into Wolfwood's hands. Unfortunately, this is not the script. Instead, all he gets is a black-and-white flyer for a bakery. It reads: "Pretty Sweetie Bakery. Bread 20% off every Saturday! Because we LOAF you almost as much as you LOAF our bread!!!"
...
The crowd is silent, but it feels like they're waiting for something. Well? You practiced your lines, right? This is your cue! Your shining moment! Break a leg!]